


#1 Crush

by coloursflyaway



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015), Kingsman: The Secret Service RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin is jealous because he’s not the only older man Taron has an amazing chemistry with, so he has to make sure that Taron knows who he really belongs to.</p><p>In case you're not mainly here for the Firtherton, this is probably not the fic for you; Harry/Eggsy is just part of Taron's musings!</p>
            </blockquote>





	#1 Crush

“ _Oh yes, very, very nice_ “, Taron can hear himself say on screen, even if he cannot bring himself to look over; his eyes won’t move from Colin’s face, his expression. It’s nothing he has ever seen before, the other’s eyes wild and dark, his mouth set in a firm line, making his jaw look sharper; Taron’s mouth goes dry within seconds.  
“Do you hear this?”, Colin mutters darkly, and his voice alone is enough to send shivers through Taron, and that before they have even touched. He’s undressed, because Colin told him to do take off his clothes, but the older man is still in his shirt and jeans, even a watch clinging to his wrist, a difference that Taron has never felt as keenly as he does now.  
“ _You’re going to need a pair of shoes to go along with your suit_ ”, Colin, Harry, says on screen, and in real life, Colin puts his hands on Taron’s thighs, digs his fingers into the soft flesh just enough to make him feel it.  
“This is where you belong.”

The words knock the air out of Taron’s lungs, because yes, this is what he wants, this is what he has wanted since he first set foot into the same room as Colin, maybe even longer. He wants to belong and he wants it always, not just when they happen to be on the same film set.  
“ _An oxford is any formal shoe with open lacing_ ”, Harry explains and Taron remembers that day so well, the tension between them, the lingering glances.  
Colin’s voice in his ear, whispering, “Don’t you think that Harry is dying to fuck Eggsy against the wall in this scene?”  
He remembers it and can’t help but think that Colin must have chosen this scene because of the memories it brings, of him sucking in a breath and later, of Colin crowding him against the wall of his trailer and kissing him senseless.  
He must have sobbed out a _yes_ , or a _please_ , because Colin looks more than just pleased, rewards him with a gentle press of lips against his hip, on the soft plane of his stomach, nuzzling him.  
“ _Try a pair_ ”, Colin says on screen and in real life, whispers, “Remember that. Mine, not Tom’s, not Hugh’s.”  
Of course, Taron knows that, but he doesn’t get to tell Colin that, soothe the jealousy he suspects coursing through the older man’s veins, because Colin leans down and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it in the most maddening way.

Taron’s head hits the mattress as he arches off it, trying to get more of that delicious suction, the velvety heat of Colin’s mouth, but the older man refuses to let him have it, pulls away until there is only his breath washing over Taron’s spit-slick skin.  
“No”, Colin orders, and Taron lets out an honest to God whine, because the other has a way of making him desperate with a minimum of touches, just with his words and looks, the air of graceful dominance that always seems to surround him. “You’ll get what I want to give you. Not more, not less.”

If anything, it makes Taron want more, and Colin has to know that, since his lips twist upwards in an almost smirk; what he knows too, without question, is that Taron wants to obey his every command.  
Again, Colin takes him in his mouth, sinking down slowly, tongue pressing against the underside of Taron’s shaft, but this time, Taron doesn’t move a muscle, no matter how much he wants to.  
It’s torture, but the best kind, the light suction and the slick heat wrapped around his cock making Taron’s skin tingle, pleasure washing over him in waves that are easy to take now, but will end up swallowing him whole in the end.  
“G-God, Colin”, he breathes out, clutches at the sheets and on screen, Colin berates him for his Hitler impression. “Please…”

His pleas fall on deaf ears; Colin doesn’t change his pace, only bobs his head lazily, stops whenever Taron’s cock hits the back of his throat. His lips are wrapped tight enough about the shaft that every inch he moves makes Taron groan and gasp, his hips desperate to snap upwards, take what he is being denied.  
By now, he has forgotten all about what is happening on screen, which might be for the best, since seeing Colin in his Harry Hart getup usually is enough to make his legs go weak, and this is already more than he can take.  
Colin presses his tongue hard against that spot just beneath the head of Taron’s cock, making him see stars, while he uses one of his hands to spread his legs wider, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of his inner thigh. Taron can only hope that he’ll leave bruises there, now or later, a reminder who he belongs to.  
For some, short seconds, Colin just continues to suck Taron’s brain out through his cock, then he presses a dry finger harshly against his hole, making Taron suck in a sharp breath, his hips moving against the almost intrusion, Colin’s fingers rubbing across the tight furl of muscle.

He doesn’t press them inside, but Taron almost wants him to, although he knows it would hurt and burn. But there’s that little part of him who wants just that, wants to be taken apart by Colin and built up again.  
He’s letting out moans with every breath, and it might be that which ends his torture, because Taron knows how much Colin likes to hear him, just like the other man knows that Taron doesn’t mind a hint of pain to go along with his pleasure.

A few more bobs of his head, then Colin pulls off, lips slick with spit and his eyes dark, and Taron feels like he is burning up when their eyes lock, it’s like Colin is marking him with a look alone, a brand he won’t ever be able to shake off.  
“Lube”, the other orders, and his voice is deep, rough, and Taron feels his cock twitching even while he turns, scrambling to find the familiar tube in between the mess of clothes piled up on the nightstand. He manages; he catches a glimpse of the screen.  
Harry is leaving Eggsy to be fitted for a suit and Taron shudders, reminded of Colin pushing him against that same mirror after everyone else had left, kissing him until Taron felt like drowning. Calling it practice, because _really now, Taron, what do you think Harry would have done to Eggsy in this situation? A lesson in character building, that’s what this is. We both know that they spent those twenty-four hours they had together fucking, don’t we?_  
A smile on his lips anyway that had made liquid heat pool in Taron’s stomach, spread out through his limbs, to the tips of his fingers, his toes.

It used to be one of the best ways to drive him insane, little fantasies the older man shared with him about their characters. Harry fingering Eggsy in the tube to HQ, Eggsy hiding underneath Harry’s desk, either sucking his cock or just keeping it warm in his mouth, Harry not yelling at Eggsy after he didn’t shoot the dog, but instead putting him over his knee, giving him the spanking he deserved.  
They had long, heartfelt talks about Harry’s protectiveness and Eggsy’s unwavering loyalty as well, but what had stuck to Taron were the fantasies of Eggsy being bent in half, sucking his own cock while Harry fucked him into the mattress.

“Taron, love.” Colin brings him back to here and now and the lust throbbing inside of him, and Taron turns around to face him again, lies back. His legs are still spread wide and his cheeks are burning so hotly that Taron is certain they’re stained pink and red, but Colin’s eyes on him are enough to make him forget about any embarrassment he could possibly feel.  
He’s not as fit as he was when they started this, his thighs plump and his stomach soft, squishy, even his jawline having lost its sharpness, but Colin hasn’t looked at him with anything but desire, not once. And that is what counts, isn’t it?  
That Colin wants him with chiselled abs and not an ounce of body fat, but wants him just as much when he has lost most of his muscles, is round and soft and pliable all over.

“All mine”, the other mutters now, confirming all that Taron has thought of him; he sounds as possessive as he sounds awed, a mixture that makes Taron feel dizzy, feel _wanted_. _Loved_ , even. “I won’t let you forget that.”  
It almost makes Taron laugh, because he can hardly even remember how it felt not to be Colin’s, but the older man drops again, swallows down Taron’s cock, and God, if this is how Colin wants to make sure he knows who he belongs to, then Taron won’t stop him.  
For a few blissful seconds, there’s nothing but the hot, slick suction of Colin’s mouth, then the other spreads his legs once more.

There’s the tell-tale click of the lube being opened, and then Colin’s fingers are back between his legs, slick and cool against Taron’s skin, rubbing across his hole for a few moments before pushing in.  
The other doesn’t bother with going slow, just pushes two fingers into him, just how Taron likes it.  
His body doesn’t welcome the intrusion as much as Taron’s mind does, aches and burns as Colin’s fingers stretch him apart, but it’s the pain as much as the feeling of being filled that makes Taron moan.  
“Please, oh please, Colin”, he gasps, begs; Colin doesn’t answer, but sucks harder, swirls his tongue around the head of his cock when he starts pumping his fingers in and out of Taron.  
He’s not rough, but he’s not gentle either, just takes what is his anyway, and Taron can’t even try to keep still anymore, his hips pushing back against Colin’s fingers, thrusting up into the other’s mouth.  
This time, though, Colin doesn’t seem to mind, just continues bobbing his head, relaxing his jaw a little more so Taron can fuck up into his mouth while Colin rubs circles over his prostate, making Taron see stars.

Words and nonsensical pleas are spilling from his lips and Taron doesn’t have the strength to try and keep them back, too focussed on Colin’s fingers, Colin’s mouth.  
After having done this dozens of times, the other knows just how to touch him, stops tormenting his prostate in favour of fucking him with his fingers instead, spreading them just slightly every time he has them buried deep inside of Taron. It adds a bit of a stretch, but that’s something that has never failed to turn Taron on.

With every bob of Colin’s head, every thrust of his fingers, Taron can feel himself getting closer to the edge, arousal pooling in his stomach, his skin feeling like Colin’s touches are setting it on fire, making him burn up.  
They are moving in synch, like a well-practiced dance, and Taron is biting his lips, trying to hold out just a little longer, because he needs something more to make this perfect, make it what he needs.  
“They’ll – _ah!_ – they’ll start drawing things”, he grits out in between moans and desperate gasps, because he needs Colin to do something, to forget about not wanting to hurt him and focus on claiming him again. “Of me and Hugh. Write things, too, about him fucking me.”

It’s the right and the wrong thing to say at the same time; Colin growls around his cock, takes him deeper still, while he forces a third finger into Taron, stretching him wide and giving him just what he needs.  
There’s a hint of pain when Colin fucks his fingers hard into him, the fingertips rubbing against Taron’s prostate, and it’s what pushes Taron over the edge, makes him come with a shout of Colin’s name. Pleasure washes over him, leaving him breathless, gasping, while he rides out his orgasm, Colin sucking him through it, his fingers relentlessly pumping into Taron, giving him everything he needs.

It takes some time until Taron comes down from his high, slight aftershocks still making him shiver and Colin still licking, sucking on his cock, even if it’s too much, far too much.  
Their eyes meet, and Colin smirks, smug and relentless, gives the head of his cock another long suck before he pulls off. “I’m going to fuck all thoughts of Hugh out of your head.”  
It’s a promise, and one that makes Taron release a shaky breath; he’s brought this upon himself and he doesn’t regret it for a second.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard and so good that you’ll still feel it in a week’s time”, Colin continues, presses his fingers harshly against Taron’s prostate, rubs them there, and Taron keens, hips snapping as if unsure if to try and get more or to make this stop.  
“I’ll make you scream my name until you’re hoarse.”  
And Taron doesn’t doubt it for a second.  
Slowly, Colin sits back his legs, pulls his fingers out of Taron so he can feel every inch of them, leaving him empty and aching to be filled again.  
“I’ve seen the movie”, Colin says almost conversationally while he wipes his fingers on the sheets, picks up the lube again, undoes the fly of his jeans so he can pull his cock out. It’s hard, the dark head peeking out behind the foreskin slick with precome, and Taron almost wants to taste more than to feel the other come inside of him. “All those puppy eyes. The hugging. Begging Hugh to train you.”

The words make Taron blush, even if he has had nothing to do with those things, only did what he was told to.  
Colin is slicking up his cock and Taron spreads his legs wider, cants up his hips, tries and fails to suppress a moan when Colin growls, “ _Training you is my job_.”  
“Fuck, Colin…”

There’s no answer, instead Colin grabs his legs and swings them over his shoulders, takes a second to tease the inner side of Taron’s thighs, running his hands down towards his hips, thumbs dragging over the soft, sensitive flesh. It’s almost too much, but Taron moans anyway, rolls his hips; his cock is still flaccid, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to feel Colin inside of him.  
“C’mon, please-“  
Taron’s words are hardly more than breaths, than sobs, but they do the trick, Colin gives his thighs another squeeze, then pulls one of them away, uses it to guide his cock to rest against Taron’s hole, rubbing it there. It's another way of teasing him, but it doesn’t take long – Taron hopes that it’s because Colin is just as desperate as he is – then the other pushes into him.  
Colin’s cock slides into him in one, fluid thrust, and Taron feels himself clenching up around the shaft, the burn and ache of being stretched like this overshadowed by how right it feels. His thighs tighten around Colin’s shoulders, pull him in, and the other complies, pushes deeper until Taron can feel the rasp of Colin’s jeans against the back of his thighs.  
He’s still oversensitive from the older man’s fingers, but neither of them seems to care much when Colin starts to move, shallow thrusts to let Taron get used to it.

The sensation is just enough to make Taron gasp, and Colin takes it as a sign to pick up his pace, pulls out farther the next time to fuck back into Taron properly, the girth of his cock making Taron ache in the most pleasant way.  
“Forgotten all about him, haven’t you?”, Colin growls, leans down and almost bends Taron in half, his cock sliding even deeper into him. “No thought left in your pretty head but how much you want my cock.”  
Taron gasps his agreement, spreads his legs a bit more, just to give Colin more access, with it the permission to ruin him.

Colin’s grip around his thigh tightens, and Taron gasps when the other starts to fuck him properly, setting a pace that is just fast enough to be overwhelming, just hard enough to make Taron cry out. Every other thrust, Colin’s cock rubs across his prostate and the sensation it sparks is him shiver, the muscles of Taron’s body tense and taut.  
“Colin, Colin, please”, he gasps out, his cock twitching, trying to get hard again. It’s too soon yet, but if Colin keeps fucking him like this, mercilessly, relentlessly, it won’t take much longer. “No one else, just you, don’t want anyone but you.”  
“Good.”

The word leaves the other’s lips as a growl, accompanied with a sharp, harsh thrust of his cock; he sets a pace that’s harder than before, faster, moves the hand he is not gripping Taron’s with so he can wrap it around his cock.  
It’s too much, far too much, and yet Taron loves it, keens and bucks up into Colin’s hand, unsure if he wants the other to start stroking him in earnest or for him to pull his hand away.  
Not that it is his decision anyway.  
For some time, Colin just continues fucking him, lets Taron thrust up into the hand around his cock, waiting for it to harden, coaxing shocks of pleasure out of Taron, lust tingling through him once more.  
“More, please”, Taron gasps, clenches his hole around Colin’s cock so the friction against his hole intensifies, becomes almost unbearable. And God, he lives for this, that thin line between too much and just enough, between pain and pleasure. “Just, _more_ -“

Colin gives him exactly what he is pleading for, fucks him harder, and Taron doesn’t even care anymore if he is sobbing or begging or moaning, if he is making any sounds at all. All that matters is Colin’s cock spearing him open, Colin’s hand wringing pleasure out of him with sure strokes, Colin’s eyes on him like he is not just precious, but all that the other ever wanted.

He’s already close for the second time this night when Colin changes his position, shuffles closer, takes his hand off Taron’s cock in favour of bending his legs back to the point where it’s almost painful. Taron whines, his cock leaking and twitching, aching to be touched, but Colin makes it up to him, because this position allows his cock to slide even deeper inside of Taron, the head dragging roughly over his prostate.  
Colin gives him a hard, beautifully merciless thrust that rocks Taron back with its strength, all but makes him see stars, before he growls, “Touch yourself.”  
He doesn’t have to say it twice; Taron’s hand flies down to wrap around his cock, fingers still aching from gripping the sheets so tightly. There’s no way he can stroke himself in time with Colin’s thrusts, so Taron doesn’t even try, just jerks his cock messily, while Colin fucks into him with abandon, all thoughts of grace or precision obviously forgotten.

And again, it’s Taron who comes first. It’s just another hard thrust, Colin’s cock rubbing harshly against his prostate, and that’s what pushes Taron over the edge, his hand milking the come from his cock while pleasure explodes in Taron’s stomach, all but drowns him.  
He’s clenching around Colin’s cock, which makes the sensation even more intense, makes it sweeter, and Colin keeps fucking him through it, hard, sharp thrusts that won’t let the pleasure ebb off, just heightens it until Taron is breathless, thoughtless.

The aftershocks are still wrecking through him when Colin pulls out, and Taron already wants to protest, not wanting to lose the feeling of being so full, wanting to have Colin inside of him, when the older man wraps a hand around his cock, starts to stroke it furiously.  
And God, that is just as good as having Colin come inside of him, filling him up.  
Taron watches with wide eyes and parted lips, Colin still dressed and yet flushed, his cock slick with lube; it doesn’t take more than a few more strokes until the other is coming, hot spurts of seed hitting Taron’s soft belly, his chest.

It’s the strangest of all sensations, because it’s such a small thing and yet it feels like so much. Just a few ribbons of come on his skin and yet Taron feels utterly owned, marked, and he _loves_ it.  
For a few moments, Colin just looks down on him, his expression fond and exhausted and something so intense it takes Taron’s breath away, then he collapses next to him, and Taron doesn’t waste a second, just cuddles into the other, lets Colin wrap his arm around him.  
“D’you want me to just tattoo your name there next time?”, he asks a few moments later, once he has gotten over the sight of the other coming apart in front of him, fucking his own fist, gestures to his chest, and Colin chuckles, his voice still hoarse and delightfully deep. “Might be easier.”  
“Well, I wouldn’t say no to that.”  
With a smile, Colin presses a kiss to his temple, and Taron feels warm all over in the best way, moves so he can kiss the other’s lips, come now staining Colin’s shirt as well as Taron’s skin.  
“You’re horrible.”

Taron settles down on Colin’s chest, swipes his fingers through the mess on his chest to gather some come, then sucks it into his mouths, liking the taste, just like always.  
There are a few moments of happy, sated silence, Colin pushing a hand through Taron’s hair, then the other says, “You know that I’m proud of you, don’t you? Despite all of this.”  
“You idiot.” Taron is smiling fondly, blinks up at Colin, so is looking almost uncertain, like he doesn’t know just what to expect. “Of course I do. _Because_ of all of this.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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